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"Very well. There is no need to speak of what is past and no longer possible. I did but wish you to know why I meddled in your affairs. Forget it now. In a week we will be gone from here and safe on our own lands. If affairs of state grow hot enough, the king will forget us." |
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Ian's chest was heaving as if he were still in battle. "I cannot bear it," he muttered. |
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Subduing the temptation to remark nastily that he would not have to bear it, since he would be dead, Alinor unlaced Ian's mail hood and pushed it back. "If you mean to go to the feast this day, you had better let me sew up what needs sewing." |
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It had occurred to her that Ian's bad temper had not been generated by any unkindness on the part of his "lady love." Perhaps he wished to bask in the approval of her smiles. Alinor knew it was impossible to determine which woman it was by watching the court ladies. At least a third of them constantly cast languishing glances in Ian's direction. Now that she was aware, however, she might watch to see where Ian's eyes went. She had already given the matter some thought, but could not recall a single particular look. Possibly he had taken especial care, but it was more possible that she had not noticed because she was preoccupied with other matters and, previously, unsuspicious. |
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But Ian shook his head. "I cannot go," he said, and swallowed sickly. "Alinor, let us go away from here. If we ride out now, we can be in Kingsclere before midnight." |
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Alinor was aware of thinking along two different paths at the same time, as one can stand at the fork of a road and see two separate tracks leading out of it. One path thought contemptuously that either Ian had "forgotten" his "lady" again or that one glimpse in a year was sufficient to sustain that holy passion. With the other part of her mind, she castigated herself for her unwise speech. It was absolutely impossible to do as Ian wanted. It would be an open insult to the king to |
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